Magnetism
by thequintessentialbookworm
Summary: Hermione is sick of Ron going nowhere in life while her wild ambitions at the Ministry are falling flat. When she and Ron split for good, Hermione is lost, stuck in a dead end job, and wishing for old times. George is struggling 5 years after his twin's death, and the booming empire of WWW reminds him of Fred each day. Rated T for language and a *little* bit of smut.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione slipped off her high-heeled shoes and rested her head against the outside of her and Ron's flat in south London. She'd had a long day. Coriander McDowell, her boss at the Ministry had been particularly lewd and yet another stack of Hermione's bills for house-elf liberation had been vetoed.

Hermione gripped her keys in her hand, not quite willing to go into the flat yet. It had been 5 years since the Wizarding War, and Ron still hadn't managed to keep a job. Sure, he'd worked at WWW with George for a while, but then Lee Jordan joined as a partner and Ron quit.

She was sure that Ron was being overshadowed, as he always had been, by Harry. A rising star at the Auror office, newlywed to Ginny, who was pregnant, and generally accepted and loved as the wizard who saved them all from Voldemort, Harry was vastly more successful than Ronald Weasley. The only accomplishment under Ron's belt was the Leaky Cauldron record for most chips he could fit in his mouth at once (42.)

Hermione sighed and resigned herself to not think about her underachieving, lackadaisical, utterly unambitious boyfriend and turned the key.

Ron sat on the couch, a massive bowl of Bertie Bott's beside him, staring glassy-eyed at the telly. A few months ago, Hermione had decided to put a "tello-vizzy" in their flat, but now Ron just wasted away on the couch. Not that he was doing anything much different before.

"Hey, 'Mione." Ron said lazily, never taking his eyes off the rerun of _Fawlty Towers. _

"Ronald." Hermione snapped, dumping her bag and shoes unceremoniously on the floor.

"You know, this tello-vizzy really is great." Ron shoved a handful of jelly beans into his mouth.

"I'm glad you like it." Hermione said sarcastically, pulling a clip out of her hair, which exploded into a bushy tangle of curls.

"Hmm." Ron grunted. "So how about some supper?"

Hermione snapped. "No."

"Sorry. But seriously, meatloaf would be nice."

Hermione stomps off and casts a quick _Muffliato _on the doors before starting to yell. "You know, Ron? I deserve a 'hello, Hermione, how was your day?' not 'get me some food.'"

"I'm sorry, Hermione. It's just I've had a long day." Ron rubbed uselessly at a stain on his sweatpants.

"Excuse me?!" Hermione shouted in disbelief. "You've had a long day?! What, did six hours of telly wear you out?"

"Well…" Ron stammered, but he had no excuse.

"If anyone's had a long day," Hermione continued, "it's been ME! I went into work, where my boss makes all sorts of inappropriate remarks, piles a bunch of paperwork on me, and ignores all my efforts to actually help house-elves and goblins. You know how many bills I've written?! Ninety-four! Over five years, I have written almost a hundred bills lobbying for the liberation of magical creatures and _every single one _has been rejected. Then I come home, to what? A rude, demanding boyfriend who doesn't give a damn about me, other than for food or sex!"

"Hermione, I'm sorry, I've been an arse." Ron stood up, apologetic. "Look, I'll get myself a job, maybe I can go work for George again or something, I don't know."

"Ron, I'm sorry." Hermione bit her lip. "But how many times have you said that? How often have you promised me that you'll get your act together when all you really do is sit around and eat and watch telly?"

"I mean it, this time, honest." Ron gesticulated wildly. "I love you, 'Mione." He added softly.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't do this anymore. We're done, Ronald, for good."

She walked into their bedroom. Even though Ron had pretty much trashed the whole flat, Hermione had made it her personal mission to keep the bedroom clean. She looked around sadly at the never-wilting roses Ron had bought on their first anniversary and an old framed photo of her, Ron, and Harry right after the Wizarding War.

_I was so happy back then…_Hermione thought. _Voldemort gone, my whole life in front of me, being with Ron back when he still cared._

She shook her head. Ron wasn't the same person he used to be. Hermione pulled her unruly hair into a braid and changed into jeans and a t-shirt with a Hemingway quote on it, then cast a charm to gather and shrink all of her belongings into a single suitcase.

When she came out of the bedroom, Ron was pacing nervously around the living room.

"Fuck it. Please don't go, Hermione." He looked up anxiously at Hermione, like an apology and puppy-dog eyes would get rid of nearly five years of building tension.

Hermione set down her suitcase. "Look, Ron, I loved you, I really did. But you're not the same person, you're not the man I fell in love with all those years ago. I'm sorry, but I need to go."

"Wait." Hermione turned around just as she was about to walk out.

"Look, Ron, you're not going to get another chance."

"Okay. I get it. I fucked up. But…can we still be friends?" Ron looked like he was 11 years old again, trying to make amends for calling Hermione a know-it-all.

Hermione sighed. I don't know. Maybe." She walked up to Ron and kissed him one last time. "Goodbye, Ronald."

The thud of the shutting door was followed immediately by the telltale _CRACK _of apparition.

Hermione wiped a tear from her cheek. She'd just ended a five year relationship and possibly lost one of her two best friends. I mean, sure, it had been a shitty relationship at the end, but that didn't change the fact that Ron had been really sweet when they were young and still in love.

At first, Hermione wasn't really sure where she was. _But where else? _She thought as she recognized Harry and Ginny's home outside Godric's Hollow. The tall grass swished softly in the night and a single light glowed in a quaint wizarding cottage. A very pregnant Ginny sat on the couch reading. Harry came up behind her, his hair sticking up in a million different places and gently kissed the top of Ginny's flaming orange head.

Hermione stood alone in the backyard, holding her suitcase and crying. Harry and Ginny just looked so happy, she couldn't interrupt them. With a _CRACK, _Hermione spun on her heel and disapparated again.

She was standing outside her parent's house in Bristol. The lights were off. Hermione walked up to the door, hoping her mum and dad were okay. Panic from before the Wizarding War filled Hermione briefly before she remembered that it was a Tuesday. Bingo night. Of course her parents weren't home.

Hermione wiped away another tear and sat on the front step of her parents' house. _Where to go, where to go…_It's not like Hermione had a lot of friends, just Harry and Ron, really. She was close with all the Weasleys after years of Sunday dinners, but did it even make sense to go running to the Burrow? Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were taking care of Teddy since Andromeda was taking a vacation.

Hermione supposed she could just go to the Leaky Cauldron and get a room, but honestly, her job at the Ministry didn't pay all that well, and she could use a little more comfort than what Tom the bartender could provide.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I sincerely apologize to any of you who may have read the earlier version of Chapter Two I posted. I wrote it last night, sleep deprived and fueled by caffeine, and upon reading it this morning, I literally have no idea what I was thinking. Thank you, Guest review, because honestly, that was terrible. I hope this is much better, anyone who might happen to be reading this.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, which is really a shame

George was up late. He sat at the kitchen table of his flat in Diagon Alley, sketching out an idea for a new product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The famed, one-use only clone for a day, totally undetectable, takes your notes for you, and reports back in the evening product just wasn't working the way it was supposed to. He and Fred had come up with the idea years ago, but couldn't figure out a way for the charms to work. They'd gotten the idea when Fred and George would switch places for the day, sometimes even for whole months, fooling the teachers, students, and even their own mother.

If George was being honest with himself, one of the reasons he'd waited so long to get started on the clone was that Fred wasn't there to work on it with him. But it had been five years. George had to move on sometime. And for George, "moving on" doesn't mean forgetting about Fred or not thinking about Fred, but just having the energy and motivation to live in a world without Fred.

George slumped over his blueprints. The clock read 1:52 AM. He started to snore gently, quill still in hand. There was a knock at the door. George sat up quickly, confused. "Mmm…what?" he babbled, still half-asleep. With a shake of his head, George stood up and blinked his eyes sleepily.

"Who on earth could it be at this hour?" George muttered as he walked to the door. He opened the door and saw Hermione. She was wearing old clothes and toting a suitcase. Her eyes were red, like she'd been crying, but Hermione's jaw was set angrily.

"Hermione!" George gestured for her to come in. "Are you alright?" He had never seen Hermione very emotional before. She had always been the professional one, even at school. George had thought her to be rather uptight, if really very clever. More than once, he and Fred had considered asking for her help on a new product, but the Prefect would have no doubt reported them to McGonagall.

"I'm fine." Hermione said, keeping a stiff upper lip. It was clear that she wasn't fine. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not quite knowing where to sit or put her bag.

"No, you're not." George rolled his eyes. "What has my twat of a brother done?"

Hermione looked up at him, startled. "How did you-?"

"Please. I spent the first seventeen years of my life with Ron, he can be an insensitive arsehole."

"I don't want to impose..." Hermione sniffed.

"Look, you're not imposing." George took her arm gently, leading her inside his flat.

Instead of sitting down on the dark green couch, Hermione stood in the middle of the room awkwardly, clutching her suitcase with both hands .

"Do you, er, want some tea?" George ran a hand through his hair nervously, causing it to stick up haphazardly, revealing his missing ear. Ever since Fred had died, George kept his hair long, like they'd both had it that terrible year. Without the missing ear, no one could tell them apart.

"I should go." Hermione stared at the ground, tears trickling down her cheeks.. "This was a bad idea, I'm sorry, George."

"No!" George exclaimed. "My mum would roast me alive if she found out I turned you out and didn't give you tea."

Hermione gave a sort of watery chuckle at that. "Okay, just one cup."

George walked through the living room, which was like a war zone, but Hermione hadn't seemed to notice. On his way to kitchen, he surreptitiously picked up a pair of quaffle patterned boxers and an old set of WWW robes that had caught on fire and couldn't be repaired by magic.

Honestly, George didn't know Hermione all that well. Sure, she had been over at the Burrow on holidays, but she was always holed up with Ron and Harry saving the Wizarding World. Or something.

When George came back into the living room, Hermione had set down her suitcase and was sitting on the sofa with her head buried in her hands.

"Tea?" George offered. Hermione looked up suddenly, like she hadn't realized he was standing there.

"Oh. Yes, thanks." She took the mug and held it between her hands, clutching onto the warm ceramic as a sort of comfort. Hermione's eyes were almost glazed and she looked small, so small. George was reminded for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts that Hermione was, in fact, rather petite. Most of the time her assertive, slightly bossy demeanor added a foot to her height, but not now.

"Do you want to talk about it or shall we just go and whack him over the head with a broomstick?" George offered, sitting on the couch next to her.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's...it's not entirely his fault." A tear streamed down her face and fell into the tea with a soft _plink_.

"Hermione...don't be too hard on yourself. Ron's a good guy, but...you're more ambitious than he is, honestly. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

"I don't know." Hermione clutched the mug of tea like it was her only lifeline. "I...could have been more patient and...tried to help him instead of yelling at him. He was hurting after the war, feeling substandard because Harry got all the glory." She angrily wiped a tear away like she was ashamed to be crying in front of George.

"When he was helping me with the shop," George said. "Ron just...was so angry at all the Death Eaters, Voldemort, everything. Dumbledore, especially, too."

Hermione sniffed. "You know he was offered a job with the Aurors. Kingsley himself came to our flat, told him what a good addition he'd be. And, like an idiot, Ron turned it down to sit around and...watch telly and waste his life away." She curled into even tighter of a ball and said, "I was too selfish. I wanted him to be the man I fell in love with, all those years ago, and I got angry because he'd changed instead of trying to heal him."

George stared at the back of Hermione's bushy brown head as she buried her face in her knees. He wasn't the greatest at comforting. God knows he had been comforted so many times after Fred, but none of it seemed to work. Now, making people laugh, on the other hand, was a trick that George could still pull off.

"Hey, hey there." He gently patted Hermione on the back. "Why do beekeepers have pretty eyes?"

She shook her head and shrugged, her face red and streaky. "Is it really the time, George?"

"There's always time for laughter." George said, remembering how he had just started to joke around again in the past year or so. He had thought it'd remind him of Fred, but the laughter...helped George to move on. "Come on, why do beekeepers have pretty eyes?"

"I don't know." Hermione mumbled.

"Because beauty is in the eye of the bee-holder."

Hermione smiled faintly, her cocoa brown eyes beginning to light up. "Clever." She looked down into her now-cold tea. "Terrible pun, but...clever." She smiled again, a real smile this time. George noticed that her teeth were straight and perfectly-normal sized, unlike the buck-toothed grin he remembered from her first years at school. For a moment, he thought Hermione might even laugh, but the smile faded, and the twinkle in her eyes melted back into a sad sort of grieving.

"Hermione, I've been working on a project and I'm sort of...stuck." George admitted. "I know it's late, but...it might help you take your mind off Ron, and I could really use some help working out the kinks, if you wouldn't mind."


End file.
